Ten Double A's
by Gratiae
Summary: A family's home isn't just comprised of the people that live there, but also of the things with which they choose to surround themselves. And everything has an opinion. One-Shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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_The goal of all inanimate objects is to resist man and ultimately defeat him." - Russell Baker_

o o o o

2 December, 2009

The clock winked. It watched as the tall, gangly man with brown hair sat comfortably in the overly stuffed club chair. It listened as the reading man flipped the pages every two seconds or so. A small puppy lay, curled up, on the couch next to the chair, his tail thumping rhythmically on the cushion as he chewed a bright orange sock.

The ceiling fan spun around, circling the reading man and getting quick glimpses of the page before the man flipped it. It whispered to the speakers mounted on the wall, laughingly telling them that the reading man was reading _Catcher in the Rye_ again.

"That's the seventeenth time he's read that," the speakers whispered back, amused that the reading man repeated himself so often.

"At least the dancing woman is quiet," the floors yelled to the speakers, fighting to be heard over the whirring of the ceiling fan. "She scratched my finish with her heel. Why did you have to playthat song, Speakers?"

"That wasn't my fault, Floor. iPod chooses the songs, I just have to play them," the speakers grumbled. "Do you know how often I've had to play _The Girl from Ipanema_? I have it memorized."

The door to the garage opened and the dancing woman walked through to the kitchen. The dancing woman dropped her purse onto the counter and called out a greeting to the reading man. The small puppy jumped off the couch and bounded into the kitchen, barking happily.

'Hey, Sweetheart,' the reading man turned around in the chair as the dancing woman picked up the small puppy. The chair groaned as the reading man dug his elbow into the chair's back.

"Ever heard of elbow pads? Inconsiderate jerk."

'Jen's painting was fantastic. She painted the Rappahannock,' the dancing woman hit the button on the Keurig, which groaned in annoyance but started anyways. The dancing woman kept pressing the button, sometimes fifteen times in one day. The reading man stood and the chair stretched happily, reveling in the fact that he was gone.

"Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty I am free at last!" The chair cheered.

"You're not free," the rug reminded him. "He's going to sit down again after dinner."

"Stop ruining this for me, Rug."

"Oh great," the subzero rolled it's dials. "She's trying to cook again."

"Hold onto your screws, boys," the iPod joked. "It's about to get bumpy."

"Maybe the reading man will cook," the smoke alarm said wishfully. The dancing woman pulled a frying pan from the cupboard and ground beef from the subzero. The reading man dropped two buns down on a baking sheet and pre-heated the oven.

"It's about to get _hoooot_ in here!" the oven shouted and everyone groaned.

"That joke is still as lame as it was four years ago," Kuerig spat the last of his coffee into the mug and relaxed back with a sigh. "Let it die."

"Kuerig, shut up. You get all the attention. I get love so infrequently! Just let me have this, will you? Maybe she won't set me on fire this time."

"Fine. Whatever."

'Calliope, you've got paint in your hair,' the reading man smiled down at the dancing woman and picked at her hair like the orangutans that television sometimes showed when the reading man was watching.

'Jen, Payton and I got into a paint fight after class, after everyone left,' the dancing woman formed the ground beef into patties and then let the reading man drop them into the frying pan. 'Payton got me in the face. Boy's got an arm on him, ya know?'

"Ten double-A's that she burns her hand on the oven," iPod called over to the bookcase.

"What in the world would I do with double A's?"

"You're so on," the remote took the challenge.

The small puppy lay, legs splayed in all directions, on the hardwood floor. He snuffled his nose along the spot between the cabinet and the floor, the spot where crumbs might have been kicked. He started lapping at a place at random, licking up whatever phantom remnants were left. After a minute or so, the small puppy lost interest and scrambled out of the kitchen towards the Christmas tree lit up in the living room.

The lights twinkled and blinked as the small puppy batted at one of the gold ornaments with his tiny paw. The tree lifted it's branch just slightly until the gold ball was out of the small puppy's reach. Undeterred, the small puppy scuttled under the tree, heading for the glinting glass snowflake that reflected the coloured lights and sent rainbows across the floor. The tree jerked it's branch away just in time, sending the small puppy sprawling across the waxed floor directly into a wrapped package. The small puppy yelped and the reading man called for it from the kitchen. The tree sighed in relief when the small puppy scrambled away from the tree, knocking boxes over as he went and sending an ill-fated Waterford candy cane to it's demise.

'Perses!' the dancing woman groaned, looking over to see the red and white blown glass blown across the wood floor.

"It's going to be a long winter," the tree stand sighed and the tree wilted it's agreement. The gold ball that the small puppy had been using as bait slipped from it's fragile perch when the tree wilted and shattered next to the candy cane. The dancing woman scolded the small puppy, who just wagged his tail happily.

"What were they thinking putting those ornaments on the bottom of the tree?" iPod asked in exasperation. "That thing's a terror! It's destroying ev - TALL AND TAN AND YOUNG AND LOVELY, THE GIRL FROM IPANEMA GOES WALKING AND WHEN SHE PASSES, EACH ONE SHE PASSES GOES AHHHH. WHEN SHE WALKS, SHE'S LIKE A SAMBA THAT SWINGS SO COOL AND SWAYS SO GENTLE -"

"Oh for the love of Sony, will you stop it with that song?"

"It's not like we get to pick it," the radio snarked, coming to iPod's defense.

The frying pan burst into flame and the dancing woman screamed. 'Spencer! Get water!'

"Here we go again," the fire alarm sighed. "WHANT WHANT WHANT WHANT WHANT WHANT WHANT!"

The reading man went grabbed a cast iron lid from the cabinet opposite and threw it over the flames as he flipped off the gas, pulling the dancing woman away and snatching the small puppy up by the collar as it tried to get closer to the stove in excitement.

'Water on a grease fire? Are you crazy? You'd burn the whole house down!'

"Honestly, who let this woman own a house?" The sink squeaked, stunned that the dancing woman wanted to put douse a grease fire with water.

"Well, they don't make you take a test when you build a house," the subzero replied.

The trio waited silently for a few minutes before the reading man dared to lift the lid. Confirming that the flames were out, the reading man climbed onto the counter to turn the fire alarm off and then climbed back down, leaning against the cabinet with a heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and surveyed the damage. With wilted shoulders, the dancing woman remarked that they wouldn't be needing the buns anymore and that she might as well take them out of the oven before they caught fire too.

'I'll order Indian. Do you want the Chole?'

'Ow! Mother of Murphy!' The dancing woman waved her hand around before shoving it under a stream of cold water in the sink. The top of her hand sported an angry red line and the oven gapped open where she'd left it.

"I'll take those ten double-A's anytime you're ready."

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**A/N:**

**I'm so ridiculously tired. Going to school full time and working 24 hours, plus commuting to school is exhausting if you'd never tried it. But I love it. Unfortunately, it doesn't leave much time for writing, which I miss so much. I mean, it took me nearly a month to complete this simply because lack of time and, when I did have some free time, I was too exhausted to focus on it. ****I love writing and I love these characters, but school has to come first. I'm sorry I'm leaving yall in the cold, but I'm doing my best. ****Thanks to everyone for understanding. If let me put heart symbols in this, I'd put a zillion.**

**So... about a year ago, I got to wondering what in the world Calliope's appliances must think of their family. Like, honestly, if your toaster could say something about you, what in the world would it say? Mine would say that I need to work on my bagel timing, because I'm always a little off. My walls would probably say that I make them listen to the same songs over and over and over again and then I'd have to defend myself and say "HEY NOW. THESE ARE GREAT SONGS, OKAY?" and we'd get into a big fight and then we wouldn't be speaking. Honestly, it'd be a huge mess.**

**The Dynamo are in the Eastern Conference championship right now, up 3-1 aggregate over D.C. and LB and I went to the game yesterday. IT WAS AMAZING AND SO WORTH HAVING TO RUSH HOMEWORK. Ugh. It was just freaking amazing. I hope they kick butt next Sunday. The only not-awesome part was that my favourite player, Adam Moffat, took an elbow to the solar plexus about 22 minutes in and had to be subbed out and I'M A CURSE BUT WHYYYYYY ADAM WHYYYYY. /sob Anyways, I love my boys and they BETTER KICK UNITED'S BUTT.**

**Anyways! I hope you liked the story! Thanks so much for reading!**

**Love, Thalia**


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